<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Lady Eskel by SleepingDragons</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27437791">Lady Eskel</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingDragons/pseuds/SleepingDragons'>SleepingDragons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cult of Kate, Cunnilingus, F/M, Jaskier is so very bi, Misunderstandings, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Ok a little plot, Oral Sex, PWP, Pining, Unrequited Love, Winter At Kaer Morhen, background other characters, fem!Eskel, listen I saw fanart of lady eskel and the next thing I knew I had written this</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:22:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,686</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27437791</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepingDragons/pseuds/SleepingDragons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jaskier stops in his tracks, frozen feet glued to the snowy ground.  “Geralt, Geralt who is that?”<br/>There’s a goddess at Kaer Morhen.  That’s all Jaskier can think.  There’s a goddess and Jaskier was not prepared for this.    Oh, golden eyes.  A Witcher then, not a goddess.<br/>Geralt doesn’t respond, and he smacks a gloved hand at his friend’s shoulder. “Geralt, who is she?  And do you think she’d sit on my face?”  It’s not the smartest thing he’s ever said, but could anyone blame him when all reason has fled in the face of… whoever she is, seriously Geralt, who is she?  “I swear if you don’t tell me who that beautiful lady is I shall scream,” he warns.<br/>“That’s Eskel,” Geralt finally says.  “And she can hear you.” </p>
<p> </p>
<p>Jaskier comes to Kaer Morhen, meets fem!Eskel, and his little disaster bi heart explodes.  cue pining, song writing, and eventual smut</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eskel/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Blame Kate For This Fic</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Fanart that inspired this at the end of chapter 1<br/>art by GreenBird, posted with permission</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Jaskier arrives at Kaer Morhen, he is exhausted, half frozen, and no small part of him is regretting that he isn’t warm in Oxenfurt at that very moment. He could be home, warming his feet in front of a roaring fire, with a nice cup of spiced brandy. But no, instead, he can’t feel his feet, there’s simply blocks of ice on the end of his legs. He hasn’t slept in days, either too cold or too worried he was about to fall off the mountain. And for what, a freezing cold, ruined keep?</p><p>He’s still complaining under his breath when the gates swing open, revealing a small courtyard and….</p><p>Sweet Melitele.</p><p>He stops in his tracks, frozen feet glued to the snowy ground. “Geralt, Geralt who is that?”</p><p>There’s a goddess at Kaer Morhen. That’s all Jaskier can think. There’s a goddess and Jaskier was not prepared for this. She’s tall, certainly taller than him, maybe even taller than Geralt. Her shoulders are broad, the sort you could hang off of, and they’re only accentuated by the spiked pauldrons and red armor. And her thighs… Jaskier wants to bury his face in between them, or at the very least use them as a pillow. The wind kicks up, lifting her dark braid into the air and tugging at the small locks that have escaped to frame her face. Half her face is marked with three jagged scars, starting at one of her golden eyes and cutting down her cheek and through her mouth. Oh, golden eyes. A Witcher then, not a goddess.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t respond, and he smacks a gloved hand at his friend’s shoulder. “Geralt, who is she? And do you think she’d sit on my face?” It’s not the smartest thing he’s ever said, but could anyone blame him when all reason has fled in the face of… whoever she is, seriously Geralt, who is she? “I swear if you don’t tell me who that beautiful lady is I shall scream,” he warns.</p><p>“That’s Eskel,” Geralt finally says. “And she can hear you.”</p><p>Eskel, gorgeous, wonderful Eskel, scowls at them, huffs and disappears into the keep.</p><p>“You fucked up.” The voice comes from behind him, and Jaskier turns to find yet another Witcher shaking his head at him. Huh. He hadn’t even noticed there was someone else in the courtyard.</p><p>Over the next few days, he realizes just how badly he’s fucked up. To no one’s surprise, Eskel has approximately as much self esteem as any other Witcher. Which is to say, none at all. To Jaskier’s horror, she thinks he’s making fun of her.</p><p>So he backs off. Or at least tries to. There’s only so much he can do about the way his heart beat picks up when she’s near, or how every move she makes demands to be immortalized in song form. Still, he tries. He’s not sure if apologizing would make it better or worse, but he can give her this at least.</p><p>Now if only he could stop himself from falling in love with her. She’s perfect. It would be one thing if she was just gorgeous. There are a lot of gorgeous people in this world, Jaskier would be able to cope. But she’s kind, above anything else.</p><p>She’s kind, and Jaskier would eat his own heart before he willingly hurt her, so he backs off. Gradually, she gets used to him, or at least tolerates his presence. But that only makes things worse, because now he can see more of her, and he’s just falling more and more in love.</p><p>At night, when they’re all drinking Lambert’s <em>disgusting</em> moonshine and swapping stories of the Path, she always tells the best ones. She even lets him turn a few into songs. And then! And then she comments on them! And not to complain that they’re inaccurate either! She understands how sometimes the facts need to be tweaked to let the story come to life, to evoke the right emotions. But on top of that, she has comments on the actual music itself, on the melody and the notes. When he asks how the hell she learned any of this, she tells him that she attended a few lectures at Oxenfurt, hiding in the back, and may have stolen a few books from the library. To think, he might have seen her, when he was just a student himself! Granted, she was probably there well before he ever was, Witcher aging being what it is, but that doesn’t bear thinking about.</p><p>The Witchers train in the courtyard, practicing their forms and sparring, and the first time Jaskier sees her fight, he nearly swoons. She fights like a bear at times, all brute force and ridiculous strength. But then she spins out of the way of a blow, and all Jaskier can see is grace.</p><p>There’s weapons training, and then there’s practicing signs. Jaskier’s fairly confident he knows how that will go. He’s travelled with Geralt long enough that he’s seen them all. Quen forms a golden shield, yrden traps a wraith, aard pushes things back, somne sends someone to sleep, axii controls your mind, and igni sends a blast of fire. He’s personally the most impressed with igni, though the other signs do have their uses. But igni has the practical use of starting campfires and warming baths, as well as throwing fireballs at bruxae. Yes, he knows how this is going to go.</p><p>He does not know how this was going to go.</p><p>They run through all the signs, then decide to compete to see who can create the biggest igni blast. It’s Lambert that suggests it, and Jaskier isn’t surprised. With as much as Lambert loves explosions, a little pyromania is to be expected.</p><p>What really wasn’t expected was Eskel. Watching her train, Jaskier knows her signs are strong, there was no doubt about that. But he hadn’t realized *how* strong. Her fellow Witchers stand behind her, and she aims the sign at the sky. Fire pours from her hand, engulfing the sky in flames. It seems to fill the entire courtyard. A wall of heat hits Jaskier, even 15 feet behind Eskel and up on the wall of the keep, and he instantly breaks out in a sweat. When the last of the flames die down, Lambert whoops, slapping Eskel on the back. Jaskier, meanwhile, feels like if he tries to move he’ll collapse. Holy shit. All of the snow and ice in the courtyard has melted, clouds of steam fill the air.</p><p>A snatch of lyric runs through his mind. “Dragon of Kaer Morhen.” He has to use that somewhere. He’s trying to see if he can fit it into one of his current works in progress, or if he has to save it for something entirely new, when Eskel drives every single thought out of his head. In deference to the sheer heat produced by her flames, she shrugs out of her gambeson, revealing the short sleeved shirt she wore underneath. Dear gods, those <em>arms</em>. He could write ballads about those arms.</p><p>“How are you so gorgeous?” he whispers, before he can stop himself. Eskel looks up at him, golden eyes catching his, and his heart stops. Fuck he did not mean to say that outloud, and he certainly didn’t mean for her to hear him.</p><p>But fate takes pity on him, and she cocks her head in confusion. So she heard that he said something, but couldn’t tell what. “I think you won,” he calls down to her, raising his voice. There was no doubt her igni was stronger than the others, though he suspects Lambert didn’t really want the competition so much as to just see that much fire, and warm up a little.</p><p>“Damn right I did,” she calls back, a crooked grin on her face, and Jaskier’s heart makes a solid effort at beating out of his chest. Fuck, he’s got it bad.</p><p>With all of that, can anyone blame him for falling in love? No, no they cannot. If they tried he would only have to show them Eskel smiling, or have them hear her laughter and they would understand.</p><p>And Jaskier does what Jaskier always does when he falls in love. He writes. There are Eskel approved songs, songs about her fighting monsters, cutting open a basilisk to save a little girl, stories that make her look good while having enough truth to them that she can’t argue. Then there are decidedly not Eskel approved songs. Songs about her smile, crooked and uneven from scarring but so perfect. Songs about her laughter, joyful and loud. Happy songs. Lovesick songs. Songs filled with so much pining he may as well be lost in the forest. Decidedly more bawdy songs about her arms and how he wants her to just scoop him up and carry him off to her bedroom, or about how he wants her thick thighs around his ears. Just entire song books dedicated to Eskel, and everything she is.</p><p>He composes them in his head all throughout the keep, lyrics coming to life at the dinner table, in the halls, wherever. But he only writes them down in private, when he’s sure no one can read over his shoulder. He spends hours in his room strumming chords on his lute, trying to put music to the emotions he feels every second he’s around her. He doesn’t perform them, obviously he doesn’t. He’d rather sit and pine than make her uncomfortable. But he does sing them, quietly, locked away in his room in the dead of night when the whole keep is asleep.</p><p>He’s finally satisfied with his current song. He had struggled with the lyrics, trying out various word combinations and despairing for a rhyme for days, but he’s finally got it. It’s another lovesick song, this one managing to be both filled with pining and just a little bit bawdy. He runs the whole thing through again, from the top, singing as quietly as he can. There’s no one to hear him, but one can never be too careful. He carefully notes down the new lyrics and the music he has in mind, then closes his notebook, resolving to go to bed. Only, he’s actually quite hungry. Apparently songwriting can build up an appetite. Nothing for it then, he’ll just have to head down to the kitchen for a snack.</p><p>The hallways are dark, and he lacks a Witcher’s cat eyed vision, so he takes a candle. His door creaks, and he winces, hoping dearly that he hasn’t woken anyone up. Lambert was an absolute <em>terror</em> when he doesn’t have enough sleep. He listens for a moment, but he doesn’t hear anything. Looks like he’s successfully escaped.</p><p>He hums to himself as he heads down the hall, the melody to his newest song. It’s not like anyone knows the lyrics, so he’s safe.</p><p>“Why do you <em>do</em> that?” a voice asks.</p><p>Jaskier jumps and drops his candle with a curse. The flame sputters out on the stone floor, and Jaskier’s blind. At least he can recognize that voice. Eskel.</p><p>“Why do I do what?” he asks, trying vainly to find her in the dark.</p><p>“That,” Eskel says, and that really doesn’t clear anything up. But at least it sounds like Eskel’s somewhere in front of him, so there’s that.</p><p>“I’m afraid I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says. “And could you by any chance find my candle, I’m a bit blind here.” There’s some shuffling, and then Eskel lights his candle with a small igni. She sets it down on a nearby table, then turns back to him. She’s scowling, her eyes narrowed.</p><p>“Are you alright?” he asks.</p><p>“No. No, I’m not, and I don’t understand why.”</p><p>“You don’t understand why you’re not alright?” Jaskier asks, confused. If she would just tell him what’s wrong he could maybe help fix it. But if she doesn’t even know, then how--</p><p>Eskel huffs. “No, I mean I’m not alright because I don’t understand <em>why</em>.”</p><p>Jaskier sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Eskel isn’t making any sense, and it’s late, and he very much wants to go to sleep. But Eskel’s clearly upset, and what kind of friend would he be if he just left her?</p><p>“Why what, dearheart?”</p><p>“That!” She points an accusatory finger at him. “The complements and the endearments and the <em>songs</em>, all the fucking songs keeping me up at night and not a damn word is true!”</p><p>Jaskier flinches, and Eskel takes an automatic step back. Her face hardens, and Jaskier can see her closing herself off. “You… you heard those?” is all he can think to say. He thought he was being so careful.</p><p>“You’re right across from me, of course I heard them.” She scrubs a hand across her scars, a gesture Jaskier knows means she’s feeling self conscious. “Figured that was the point, right, not much point in insulting someone if they can’t hear you.”</p><p>“I wasn’t!” Jaskier says, but Eskel doesn’t listen.</p><p>“But I don’t understand it. You’re so nice to me around the others, but then you write those songs where everything’s a lie and you sing them to me. But why bother writing songs if you’re not going to perform in front of the others, bring them in on the joke. Or why bother being nice to me if you feel like <em>that</em>. And I don’t know what I did to deserve any of that, I know I’m not worth paying attention to but I didn’t ask you to damn it. It doesn’t make any sense. That you’re my friend sometimes and so damn cruel other times.” She’s almost shouting now, arms waving, looking like she’s just as likely to punch him as break down in tears. How did he fuck this up so badly?</p><p>“Hey, no, Eskel, no,” he tries, voice soft. “Eskel, look at me.” She does, eyes wild, on the edge of panic. “I’m sorry.” He wants very much to run, to hide away and pretend none of this ever happened, but he has to at least try to fix this. “I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable. I never meant for you to hear any of those songs, I actually thought I was being really quiet.”</p><p>“Then why?”</p><p>“I want to be your friend, Eskel. I’d like to think that I am, but I see now that I’ve messed up.” He wants to stop here, wants this to be enough of an apology and an explanation to fix things, but he can see that it’s not. “And they weren’t lies.”</p><p>“Bullshit.”</p><p>“I mean it. The songs that I’ve been singing, I wrote them for you, but I didn’t want to push and make you uncomfortable. So I would sing them to myself, because I couldn’t stop myself from writing them. I’m a bard, writing music is what I do, otherwise my feelings just end up exploding out in a weird jumble.” She’s staring at him, looking like her entire world view is turning upside down.</p><p>“Then, those songs…”</p><p>He nods. “I really do feel that way about you, and I’d like to try to convince you if you’d let me.”</p><p>“Convince me?”</p><p>He tries for a joke, which maybe is not the wisest decision, but it’s late and he’s tired and he just had a very emotional conversation. “Well, if you heard all the songs, then you must have some idea of what I’d like to do with you,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. He expects her to laugh and roll her eyes. Or maybe joke back. Or hell, the whole thing could have blown up in his face and it would have made more sense than what actually happened. He didn’t expect her to <em>go along with it</em>.</p><p>
  
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Still not convinced he isn’t playing a cruel joke, she doesn’t let him kiss her.  But she does let him follow her up to her room-not his, she’d much rather be able to kick him out if he’s an ass than have to leave.<br/>
</p><p>She undresses quickly, pulling at buckles with practiced ease, dropping her armor on the floor, shedding her shirt and trousers soon after.  She’d expected him to strip quickly as well; her previous partners had all been rather straight to the point.  Instead he’s staring at her, eyes roaming over her body.  She squares her shoulders and raises her chin, challenging him to say something, do something.  She knows she’s no great beauty, scarred and towering over him as she is.  But if he’s going to run, she wishes he’d just do it already.  “Well?”<br/>
</p><p>“You’re incredible,” he breathes, looking for all the world like he means it.  </p><p>Words, what are words?  He’s made his living off them, and yet they all flee his mind when she turns to him.  He’s staring, he knows he is, but sweet Melitele could anyone blame him? She looks like some sort of war goddess, like she’d be equally at home charging into battle as she is in this keep.<br/>
</p><p>“Well?” she challenges.<br/>
</p><p>That breaks the spell, if only for a second.  There are words again, though they refuse to be organized enough to properly convey even a fraction of all that she is.   “You’re incredible,” he says, knowing that’s not enough, not nearly, that he’d spend the rest of his days writing poetry and music about her and have it never be enough.<br/>
</p><p>But just now she’s standing in front of him, daring him to do something.  He wants to kiss at her throat, trail down to her chest, would she be sensitive?  He wants to bury his face between her thighs, feel her shake against him.  He wants her hand in his hair, holding him to her until she’s satisfied.  He wants to worship her.  He wants to be <em>hers</em>.  And tonight, somehow, he can be.  </p><p>	He moves closer, feeling pulled to her like the tides to the moon.  Trembling hands come to rest at her waist, thumb rubbing over the rough skin of a jagged scar carving across her belly.  How strong she must have been, to survive that, not only to survive but to win.  She’d asked him not to, so he doesn’t kiss at her mouth, though he longs to trace his tongue over that scarred lower lip, trap it between his and tug.  Instead he presses his mouth to her throat, sucking gently at her pulse point.  Her heartbeat, once Witcher slow, speeds up, something approaching human.  His hand moves up, tracing over her ribs to her breast.  He keeps mouthing at her throat, fingers circling a nipple.  She gasps, and his heart leaps.  A trail of kisses down to her collarbone, teeth scraping over her skin, not quite daring to leave a mark.  She shifts, and there are fingers in his hair, guiding his head down to her chest.  He sucks her nipple into his mouth, tongue swirling around it.  Her grip on his hair tightens, and he keeps lavishing attention on her chest, sucking lightly and pinching with his fingers.  By now her breath is coming fast and a bit unsteady.<br/>
</p><p>Pulling back, he pushes her in the direction of the bed.  He’d have better luck pushing a stone wall if she didn’t want to move, but she follows his careful direction, sprawling out over the fur blankets.  The light from the fire dances over her skin, raised scars leaving dark shadows, and he’s struck again with the thought that she’s more goddess than Witcher.<br/>
</p><p>He joins her on the bed, needing to get his hands, his lips back on that skin.  He runs his hands up and down her body, blazing trails he follows with his lips, hot mouth pulling gasps from her throat.  He kisses every scar he comes across, every mark of battles she’s emerged victorious from.  He murmurs praise against her skin, how gorgeous she is, how much he wants her.<br/>
</p><p>Deep claw marks span the length of her thigh, starting near her knee and ending on her inner thigh.  He follows their path with his mouth, ending mere inches from where he wants so desperately to kiss.  Her eyes are like molten gold when he looks up at her.  She’s propped up on her elbows, mouth open, staring at him like she can’t quite believe he’s doing this.  Nuzzling at her thigh, eyes not leaving hers, he asks, voice wrecked with want “May I?” He runs a finger, feather light over her folds to make it clear just what he’s asking for.<br/>
</p><p>Her eyes go wide, and she drops back onto the mattress, dark hair splayed out over the pillow.  “Holy <em>fuck</em>, Jaskier.”  When he doesn’t move, just keeps stroking a finger over her, she bucks her hips “Yes, damn it!”<br/>
</p><p>That’s all he needs.  One last kiss to her thigh, then he starts to worship her.  She’s so wet underneath his tongue, and he greedily laps it up, licking from her entrance up to her clit.  He circles around it, tongue just barely making contact, light and quick before retreating and licking back up from her entrance again.  He repeats this a few times, each time staying a little longer on her clit.  When she starts to whimper, quiet pleas for more coming with every breath, he takes her into his mouth, sucking hard.  She moans, a hand coming down to the back of his head, holding him in place.  He hums against her and she bucks her hips, nearly throwing him off.  His hand on her hip squeezes, a reminder to stay still for him, since he’d have no hope of holding her down.  She stills and he sucks harder as a reward, tongue flicking over her clit, trapped between his lips.  He slips a finger inside her and she shakes, thighs trembling.  One finger turns to two, and then he’s fucking them in and out of her as he licks and sucks at her clit.  She’s writhing on the bed, one hand fisted in the blankets and the other tangled in his hair.  Every move he makes brings her higher and higher, pulling more and more noises from her.  He speeds up, driving her to the edge until she falls.  Her thighs clamp shut around his head and she screams something that sounds like it might be his name, shaking apart around his fingers.  He kisses her through it, mouth and fingers working to stretch her orgasm as long as possible.  He won’t stop until she’s had as much pleasure as she can take.<br/>
</p><p>It’s a long few moments before her thighs fall away and she releases her hold on his hair.  He pulls back, gasping for air, lungs burning.  She’d damn near suffocated him and he couldn’t even complain.  She tasted like heaven, and it would have been fitting for her to send him there.<br/>
</p><p>When her breathing slows from ragged pants to something a little more even, he looks up.  She’s staring at him again, pupils blown with bliss and lust.  Carefully, he moves his fingers inside her, slower than before.  He’s not sure how oversensitive she is.  “This still good?” he asks, and she nods shakily.<br/>
</p><p>He’s gentler this time, moving slowly.  She trembles around him, and he pays careful attention to each and every reaction.  Every little sound she makes goes straight to his cock, hard in his breeches.  He hadn’t even unlaced them before practically falling to his knees in worship.  Doing anything about it would require taking a hand off her, so he just grinds against the bed, hoping for some friction and pressure.<br/>
</p><p>The pleasure builds and swells, coming over her like waves.  It’s slow and languid, carrying her closer to that edge.  Every move he makes is gentle, and so, so careful.  He treats her like she’s made of spun glass, like one wrong move could shatter her.  He holds her like she’s too precious to risk.  He sucks at her lightly, fingers moving in and out of her at a glacial pace.  She wants more, but it’s already so much.  His other hand traces patterns over her thigh, layering sensation over sensation.  She rocks her hips against his mouth and he hums against her.  The vibrations send a bolt of pleasure through her, and she’s coming undone again, shaking apart beneath his hands and that hot mouth.<br/>
</p><p>It just keeps going.  Every time she comes down, he brings her back up again, until she feels like she’s nothing more than a vessel for pleasure.  When she’s too sensitive to continue, he climbs up her body and presses kisses over every inch of her he can reach, whispering all the while how beautiful she is, how strong.  He scrapes his teeth over the skin of her throat, and she jolts and moans.  “You like that?” he murmurs in her ear, breath hot.  Her voice is gone, so she just nods.  He returns to her throat, sucking a bruise into her skin.  The mix of pleasure pain steals her breath and she clings to him as he moves over her body, leaving marks everywhere.  When she can feel that heat building in her again, she guides his head back down between her legs and he makes her see stars until she’s too sensitive once more.  The cycle continues more times than she can count, soul quaking orgasms broken up by gentle kisses and delicious bruises.<br/>
</p><p>Hours later, maybe days, time has ceased to exist, she lies panting on the bed.  He’s curled around her, head resting on her chest, hand spread over her stomach, legs tangled up with hers.  Her mind, previously somewhere up in the clouds, slowly comes back to her.  That was incredible.<br/>
</p><p>She must have made a noise, or shifted or something, because he raises his head to look at her, eyes meeting hers.  “You with me again?”  She nods, then shifts, reaching a hand down to cup him through his breeches, thinking maybe to return the favor.  The fabric is wet beneath her hand, and her eyes widen.  “Did you... ?” she trails off.<br/>
</p><p>He chuckles, a bit self deprecatingly.  “Twice, actually.”<br/>
</p><p>Her brow furrows.  “When?  I didn’t notice.”<br/>
</p><p>“Well, I imagine you were rather more focused on something else,” he teases.  So was he.  She reacted so beautifully, trembling under his every touch.  It had been heady, every noise sending him closer.  He’d been so focused on her, he’d hardly noticed his own pleasure.  So when she’d closed her thighs tight around his head, pinning him to her and screamed his name, he had lost it, spilling into his trousers like it was his first time.  It had happened again, later, sometimes around the fourth, maybe fifth time he had brought her off.  He was between her legs again, and he looked up her body as he crooked a finger deep inside her, tongue swirling over her clit.  She had been panting, breasts heaving with every breath.  The look of pleasure on her face had been his undoing.<br/>
</p><p>So he really couldn’t complain.<br/>
</p><p>“Still,” Eskel says, sitting up in the bed.  “I should have done something for you.”<br/>
</p><p>“Darling, did you miss the part of the conversation where I told you I came in my trousers?  Twice?  Trust me, you did more than enough.”  He rubs a hand over her shoulder, noting absently that there were more scars crossing over her back.  He’d have to get those next time.  “How about you go to sleep, and if you still feel like you want to, I’ll let you do whatever you want in the morning?”  He presses a kiss to a raised scar on her shoulder, then urges her to lay back down.  He takes a moment to look at her, still golden in the firelight, sprawled out over the furs.  Actually, speaking of furs… He pulls back, fumbling for the blankets to pull up over her.<br/>
</p><p>A hand reaches out and grabs his arm, halting his movements. “Don’t go.”<br/>
</p><p>“I wasn’t planning on it.”</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>